


Will You Settle For Love

by verucasalt123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:12:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re out of the life. Pretty much. But regular jobs and friendly neighbors don’t negate the fact that the supernatural is still out there. This is a story about the choices and consequences that come along with retirement, and a test of how strong their relationship is when confronted with their past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Settle For Love

pdf version: <http://www.mediafire.com/?79b0jtrhk76u7>

Once the Leviathans had been taken care of, it was shockingly easy for the Winchester brothers to decide it was time for them to duck out of the hunting lifestyle. They weren’t going to take the Favre-retirement option; bowing out when they felt they were finished and staying that way was an agreement they’d come to surprisingly quickly over a couple of beers in a roadside bar in Montana. 

Yeah, just a few beers. Dean had ditched the hard stuff a few months back, and Sam was overwhelmingly relieved but never said a word about it. It wasn’t a conversation that needed to be had. Dean already knew Sam was concerned about how much he’d been drinking, so it wasn’t necessary for either of them to discuss the fact that he’d cut back significantly. 

Sam made them new IDs, really good ones. For now, they didn’t share a last name, which sucked, but it was a necessity. Deciding where they were going to settle down wasn’t quite as simple a task. 

Their relationship had grown over the years; morphed into something (unknown to the outside world) that had become more than just some fucked-up incestuous thing. They were, for all intents and purposes, a couple. Neither had any other sexual partners, and their feelings toward each other were clearly not simply sexual or simply familial in nature. They were faithful, monogamous, and, well, fuck it, _in love_. Wherever they ended up, neither Sam nor Dean had any intention of hiding what they were to each other, except for the whole ‘blood related’ part. Out of respect for those who may have disapproved, they’d hidden it for long enough. Now, though…well, now it was just the two of them. 

They missed Bobby. The real Bobby and the ghost Bobby. But when the time came, they honored his wish for them to help him move on. It was the right thing to do, but as Sam and Dean both knew all too well, the right thing was almost never the easy thing. There were days when both of them would have given anything to feel his hand on their shoulder in support, or to hear him call them ‘idjits’ just one more time. The loss of Bobby was at the end of a long, long list of people they’d lost over the years. It was time now – time for the brothers to make their way in the world on their own.

Maybe it was coincidence, but probably not, that they decided to settle down in Iowa. It was colder there in the winter than Sam would have preferred, but not as cold as the New England states. Dean couldn’t say he was purposely choosing from the short list of places where gay marriage was legal, but yeah, it was a possibility. Not that _getting married_ was something they had discussed, or were thinking about (at least as far as what they’d shared with each other), but living in a state that allowed same-sex couples to marry seemed practical. They didn’t want to settle down somewhere they’d be ostracized and judged constantly. Sam would have been happy to live in Virginia or Louisiana where it didn’t get quite so cold, but once they found the little town of Clinton, Iowa, he decided he could live with the weather. 

It was a nice town, not tiny but definitely not a metropolis, maybe thirty thousand people. There were clean parks there, jobs to be had, a university, cheap rent, quaint little shops and restaurants. Right up on the banks of the Mississippi River, too. 

Dean had always liked being close to the water. The circumstances of his life up to this point hadn’t exactly been conducive to hobbies like fishing or boating, but somehow just being able to see a river or a lake, even the ocean, gave him a sense of calm. He figured they were close enough to Davenport that anything they needed and couldn’t get where they were was just a short drive up the highway to the closest ‘big city’. Well, ‘big city’ by Iowa standards, anyway. And certainly ‘big city’ enough for Dean’s tastes. You’d never catch him settling down in Boston or Atlanta, that was for damn sure. 

Sam was relieved when, after spending a day wandering around Clinton, Dean had simply said, “This might be the place.”

“You think so? I like it.”

“I know you do, Sammy. Let’s just spend the night, get a newspaper, see if that diner over there can whip up a proper apple pie. All right?”

“Sure, yeah, that’s – that’s a good plan, Dean”, Sam responded with one of those big dimpled smiles Dean was finally getting used to seeing again these days. It had been surprising how long it took after they disappeared before Dean realized how much he missed them. Too wrapped up in his own misery at the time, he guessed, but they were moving on from that now. There were scars, emotional and physical, injuries that would never completely heal, losses neither of them could imagine recovering from. But sticking with each other and staying out of hunting was definitely moving in the right direction, the brothers were certain of that more than anything else. 

After a week in a motel, they started looking at rentals. Apartments at first, but then they found this little house that was barely inside the city limits. It had a driveway, an attached carport to protect Dean’s baby from the elements, a nice yard in the back, two bedrooms (as if they were ever going to have guests), and the rent was dirt cheap. They signed a lease the day before Sam’s birthday and got the keys, walking into the house with nothing but the duffels that held their clothes and weapons. 

The place was empty. For the first time in their lives, Dean and Sam realized they were going to have to make a significant amount of purchases; plates, furniture, some chairs, maybe even a bookcase. If they had a place to live, there was no point keeping all their books (and everything else they owned) in the trunk of the car. 

Once again, a newspaper was purchased, and Dean immediately found full-time work at a body shop. He would have preferred mechanic work, but he had just as much experience with auto body work as many times as he’d put the Impala back together. And the place needed someone to start right away, which was crucial. They used up the last of their fake credit cards to buy simple groceries, kitchen supplies and a bed (well, a mattress for the floor, anyway). After that, they cut up the cards and agreed that real jobs were the way to go from now on. Honest work, legit paychecks – if they’d left behind hunting, they were leaving behind credit card fraud and pool hustling too. 

Well, maybe a little pool hustling every now and then wouldn’t hurt anything. 

It took Sam a week to find work, but when he did, he was thrilled. He didn’t have Dean’s real-life work experience, so he was afraid no one would hire him to do anything. The chain bookstore in town was offering only part-time work and shitty pay, but it came with health insurance benefits. _Real_ insurance, not faked cards. Of course, both of them figured they’d be spending far less time in hospitals due to no longer chasing after monsters. It was a nice feeling, though, the security of knowing Sam could get medical care if he got sick or injured or had a freakout (which were much fewer and farther between these days, thank Whoever) and not have to worry about sneaking out AMA before anyone figured out that his insurance was bogus.

Dean had a little cash saved up, so they spent their first Saturday morning after they moved in trolling yard sales. By noon, they had a tiny kitchen table that fit into the trunk once it was taken apart, as well as two wooden chairs and an old TV they’d shoved into the backseat of the car. 

Bed, TV, food, table…the basics. They’d work on the rest with time. 

There weren’t too many neighbors, but those they had were quick to welcome them. The brothers introduced themselves as Sam Winchester and Dean Smith. Mrs. O’Malley from across the street had brought them a plate of homemade cookies. The Lopez family two houses down knocked on their door to say hello and offered them a six-pack of Michelob. They were a nice couple, married close to twenty years with a teenage son named Manuel and a ten year old daughter, Pilar. Sam and Dean invited them in to chat, and Sam ended up sitting on the floor of their empty living room with Manuel and talking a long time. 

Sam was happy to find that the two of them had a lot in common; the boy came from a fairly humble background but had dreams of making his way off to a university in a couple of years if he could get a scholarship. Manuel already had an advantage over Sam, having attended school in the same district since kindergarten. He happily shared his experience of having procured a scholarship to Stanford even though he’d ‘moved around a lot as a kid’, leaving out the details, of course. 

“You take the SATs yet?” Sam asked.

“Not for a few months. As soon as junior year starts, I’m going to sign up.”

“Well, if you find yourself needing help to get ready for it, just let me know.”

The boy flushed slightly and replied, “We don’t really have money for a tutor, but thanks for offering.”

“Kid, I’m not a tutor. Just your neighbor. I would have done anything to have someone help me when I was your age. I just did the practice books alone in the library after school, listening to the other kids talk about their private test prep classes.”

Manuel nodded and smiled up at him with a look of relief. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Right, you get it. So really, just come talk to me if you need anything.”

As this conversation was happening, Dean was learning about their other neighbors from Mr. and Mrs. Lopez ( _‘Rita and Jorge, please’_ ). Dean and Jorge shared beers leaning against the counter as Rita and Pilar sat in their only two chairs; Rita contributing plenty of neighborhood gossip and their daughter happily coloring away in a book. It turned out Mrs. O’Malley had been widowed for eight years, there was a strange family down the street who home-schooled their kids and never looked at or spoke to anyone else on the block, and Jorge had gone to high school with the guy who ran the shop where Dean had gotten hired. 

“He’ll shoot you straight, Dean. He’s a decent guy, I think you’ll like working there. That car of yours is a beauty, that’s for sure.”

The two of them started in on a conversation about old muscle cars while Rita and Pilar had a quiet conversation in Spanish. 

After a few minutes, Jorge asked, “Sorry if this is a rude question, but you and Sam…” His look filled in the blanks.

Without hesitation, Dean responded, “Yeah. We’re together. Have been for a long time. I was hoping that wouldn’t be an issue.”

“It’s not, really. I mean, not for me, not for most folks around here. You still run into your ignorant bigots now and then, same as everyplace else, but our neighborhood, our town, isn’t really like that.”

Not knowing she was even listening, Dean was surprised to hear Rita pipe up, “Oh, I heard Mrs. O’Malley speculating with Stephanie the other day, talking about how you guys were just _as cute as two buttons_. Stephanie, she’s in the blue house across the way, teaches at Pilar’s school. She’s not married, but she’s a predatory serial dater. New boyfriend every few weeks…”

Jorge cut in there. “These guys are barely moved in, honey, can we try not to overload them with too much gossip already?” he asked with a smile in his eyes. 

Sam and Manuel joined them again then in the kitchen, and the Lopez family made their way out, telling them to ask if they needed anything while the brothers thanked them for their warm welcome.

“Nice family”, Sam said, as the door closed. 

Dean agreed. “He asked, you know. If we were ‘together’. I told him yes.”

“Well, we already decided there wasn’t going to be any more sneaking around about it, right? Hopefully no one’s gonna call Fred Phelps on us.”

Laughing, Dean responded, “Rita says we’re already just running around the gossip mill of the block like everything else. Nobody’s making a big deal.”

Sam moved in a little closer then. “So no big deal if I do this?” he asked, catching Dean’s mouth in a passionate kiss and holding his head still with his hands. 

Pulling back to catch his breath, Dean shook his head. 

“How about this, then?” Sam reached for the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and pulled it up and over his head, discarding it on the kitchen floor. “Or this?”, ghosting his fingers over first Dean’s left nipple, then his right, eliciting soft moans as a reward.

“Fuck. Bedroom, Sam. Come on.”

Leaving Dean’s shirt on the floor, they moved into their room and quickly shed the rest of their clothes before crawling onto their mattress. “Oh, if they all knew how you looked like this, Dean, all spread out for me, your cock all hard and leaking, face so flushed…”

“Forget the neighbors, Sammy”, Dean growled, grabbing him by the shoulders and bringing him for another long, hot kiss. Sam’s _aw, shucks_ persona that he shared with people they met was no match for his filthy sex talk.

Sam could tell just from his brother’s touches and his position on the bed that he wanted Sam to top this time. They didn’t really have a ‘usual’ since both of them enjoyed giving just as much as receiving. It was easy enough for either of them to figure out how the other wanted things to go on any particular occasion, especially since they’d been doing this off and on since they were teenagers. It was only in the past couple of years, though, that they’d made the decision to be monogamous. 

“Sure, okay, just try to keep the noise down, Dean, I think we left the window open in the living room.”

Just the thought of anyone happening to walk past on the sidewalk and hear them was an incredible turn-on for Sam. Unable to keep up the teasing, he lowered himself and took Dean’s dick into his mouth as far as he could, sucking and licking for all he was worth. The whole time, Dean’s hands were fisted in his hair. Small, quiet sounds of pleasure and whispers of his name only motivated him even more. Pulling off just long enough to grab the bottle of lube strategically hidden under the mattress, he slicked up two of his fingers and gently pushed them inside Dean’s entrance as he returned his mouth to his brother’s cock. With as much patience as he could muster, he worked Dean open slowly with his fingers, moving from two to three within minutes. 

Eventually, Dean was thrusting up into Sam’s mouth then back down onto his fingers, and he breathed, “Please, Sam.” 

“All right. You know I’ll take care of you. You ready?”

“Yes, Christ, I’m – yes, I am, I’m ready, just…”

The rest of Dean’s demand was swallowed when Sam thrust his slicked up dick into Dean’s ass. He moved quickly, but still gently, until he was buried all the way inside, as deep as he could get. Chests and legs and arms pushed against each other, there was practically no space at all between them. Sam started rocking in and out of Dean with shallow thrusts, but sped up when Dean crossed his ankles behind Sam’s back and _pushed_ , using his brother’s body for traction. 

Beads of sweat quickly formed on Sam’s brow, dripping onto Dean’s face and into his hair. He couldn’t wipe them away, because he needed both of his hands braced on the bed to keep up the pace, but neither of them really cared. They were lost in what they were doing, as so often happened, even after all this time – nothing else registered except for the intensity of the sex and the emotion that always encompassed it. 

The friction between Dean’s cock and Sam’s abs was enough that Dean came without a hand on him inside of ten minutes. His whispered _ohohohSamohSam_ , along with the spasm of his inner muscles, had Sam following him almost immediately. 

Neither of them bothered moving to get cleaned up, just repositioned themselves so they were side by side. They both had new jobs to start tomorrow. Legit work in a nice town where old ladies brought them cookies. 

Changing the alarm tone to Back In Black didn’t make Dean any happier to wake up so early. Yeah, this was the part he was going to have to get used to. He hadn’t lived by a schedule and someone else’s rules since he was a kid, and even then, they were his dad’s, not some random stranger’s. Still, he’d been good at it then, thrived on it really, so maybe once he settled into living this way, it would be good for him. He already knew it would be great for Sam. 

As a kid, Sam had craved the stability of a routine. Not the routine of training and hunting their father had in place; he hated that from the jump and never failed to vocalize his dissatisfaction. But on the rare occasions when they settled down for three or four months in some little town and Sam got to walk to the same school every day, see the same people, make a schedule for homework and studying, that was the happiest he ever was when they were growing up. 

In his times of great distress – his six months alone after Broward County, the time while Dean was in Hell, even when he was soulless – routine was his default setting. It was instinctive to eat the same things at the same time every day, to carefully organize everything he owned, all of it to an excessive degree. When Sam felt out of control, he compensated by having complete control over the small things he could. Maybe now, since he’d chosen his circumstance, having a routine would be a real comfort, not just a way to keep from going crazy. 

Dean pulled himself from his thoughts (and from the bed) so he could shower and get dressed. He wasn’t going to show up late on his first day of work. Just as he was pulling on his boots, he heard Sam stirring.

“You gotta go now?”

“Yeah, gotta go now Sammy. Both of us didn’t luck out on a shift that doesn’t start until ten”, Dean replied, reaching over to ruffle Sam’s hair. 

Sam just grinned up at him with sleepy eyes. “Hey, you’re gonna do great, you know?”

“’Course I know. You are too. You’re off at, what, four?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Sam replied, his head still resting comfortably on his pillow. 

“Good. You can cook me some dinner, then. I’ll be back before six.”

Sam threw a pillow at his head. “Not your housewife, Dean.” he mumbled. 

“We’ll see about that, sweetcheeks.”

That remark got him a half-asleep bitchface, but not another pillow to the head, because there was only one other pillow and Sam wasn’t about to give it up just to throw it at Dean. “Kiss me goodbye then, _sweetcheeks_.”

So Dean kissed him, bitched about his morning breath, and headed out the door.

It was with much more trepidation that Sam went to leave for his own job a couple of hours later. Dean had done this before, worked a steady job, and he knew what he was doing. Also, Dean hadn’t had a recent bout of Lucifer-induced insanity that left behind a lingering anxiety disorder. He’d been medicated for it to some extent at the hospital and considered that once his health insurance kicked in, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get a prescription for some anti-anxiety medication. Not that shit you take every day that gives you the shakes and kills your sex drive, just something for whenever he could sense that churning feeling in his gut attempting to take over. It’s not like being a clerk in a bookstore was what he’d classify as ‘challenging’, but a new situation, strange people, and his lack of any real-life work experience definitely made him nervous.

As expected, Dean spent the first half of his day filling out paperwork and signing forms and being introduced to his co-workers. No one batted an eye at the expertly prepared identification his brother had made for him. After lunch, he finally got to do what he went there to do: work. His first task was almost insultingly simple, buffing out scratches from the driver’s side of an expensive sports car. He grinned when he saw the scratches weren’t random – they were words. **CHEATING FUCKER** , to be exact. Most likely scrawled into the paint job with a key. 

Sam spent almost his entire shift filling out paperwork and signing forms and being introduced to his co-workers, as well. Health insurance, those forms were the most complicated. His previous hospitalization wasn’t a pre-existing condition since he’d been checked in under an alias, as he had been on just about every hospital or doctor visit he’d had in his entire life. With a slightly shaking hand, he elected coverage for himself as well as his ‘domestic partner’, Dean Smith. His matronly supervisor gave him a soft look when she saw that, and he detected no judgment from her. The last hour or so was spent being instructed in how to use the register and the ways in which it was most effective to talk people into joining the store’s _rewards program_. 

Sam was pretty certain he’d never win any prizes for being good at that.

At the end of the day, though, he walked the six blocks back to their house feeling fairly confident and considering the possibility of getting a bicycle. There had been a few brief moments of panic at meeting new people, but nothing he couldn’t handle. And now he was home. _Home_. 

 

Dean wanted dinner. And he’d have it. Sam wasn’t exactly a genius in the kitchen, but he could pull off simple meals, and he figured he’d start with as simple as it gets – pasta with sauce from a jar and pre-seasoned garlic bread. 

At a quarter to six, Dean walked into their house and took in the aroma coming from the kitchen. Sam was just draining the penne (just regular penne, he figured he’d ease his brother into whole wheat pasta gradually) and the garlic bread was baking. Dean walked into the kitchen and immediately slid up behind Sam, kissing his neck and saying, “Awww, you really did cook me dinner. Guess that makes you the _housewife_ after all, huh?”

Sam slapped Dean’s arm with a wooden spoon. “Shut up, jerk. It’s just spaghetti and garlic bread. How’d it go today?”

“Great. Got to buff out some obscenity that was keyed into some rich fucker’s Jag. What about you? Any trouble?”

And yeah, it was implied, understood; ‘trouble’ had a specific definition. “A little panic here and there, but nothing I can’t handle. Also, in a month, if I don’t have an attack of the crazies and get fired, we’ll both have health insurance.”

Dean was stunned almost into silence with that piece of information. “What, they have family coverage? You told them I was your brother?”

“Nope. Policy covers ‘domestic partners’.” Sam responded with a grin. “Progressive, huh? So anyway, yeah, it’ll be for both of us. Totally covered by the store, nothing taken out of my paycheck for it.”

“Damn, that’s a sweet deal. Makes up for the crap money they’re paying you. Speaking of which, how does that work at your place?”

“I’ll get a check on the 15th, which will only be partial since I’ll only have six days of working until then. Again on whatever is the last business day of the month. What about you?”

“Every Friday. Taxes taken out like a law-abiding citizen and direct-deposited into our joint checking account.” Dean thought a minute before he gave voice to what was going on in his head. “This is weird.”

Sam laughed while he dumped the pasta back into the big pot he’d cooked it in and stirred it up with a generous helping of the store-brand red sauce he’d heated up. “Well, yeah, to us. But most people live like this their whole adult lives, and we’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

Dean smiled then, a real smile that showed on his whole face. “Guess we will. Also, I thought we’d hit up a thrift store or some yard sales, Saturday, after I get paid. We still need a sofa, some kitchen stuff, maybe, uh…you know, a side table or a dresser?” 

“Sure, yeah, let’s do that. I already worked out a budget and figured out how much we can spend on stuff like that for the next couple months.”

“Why am I not surprised you’d get that all figured out on your own? We’re gonna be okay. Not living like royalty, but shit, how many weeks did we spend as kids eating nothing but dry cereal or bologna sandwiches on stale bread? I can bargain-shop for groceries like a boss.”

Laughing, Sam responded, “Good, ‘cause grocery shopping isn’t on my list of Domestic Chores I Will Embrace.”

“Dude, I did _not_ just volunteer to make all of the trips to Aldi!”

“Oh, no, I believe you did. You’re the expert, right?” Sam ignored Dean’s murderous glare as he heard the timer go off, then removed the garlic bread from the oven. 

Dean took one whiff of it and said, “Fine, I’ll do the shopping.”

Score one for Sammy. He wasn’t great at cooking, but he could learn. Grocery shopping, however, he would certainly hate forever. They both knew that a division of labor would either have to be planned out, or it would fall into place naturally. Sam hoped for the latter.

Weeks and months flew past faster than either Sam or Dean expected. They were both in possession of debit cards, health insurance, a bookcase and a coffee table before they knew it. One of Dean’s co-workers who had a pickup truck offered to haul a sofa they’d purchased at Goodwill to their house. Sam’s boss asked if he wanted a charcoal grill; her husband had bought a fancy new propane job and they didn’t need it anymore. Dean invited their neighbors for a cookout on Labor Day weekend. They’d had dinner with the Lopez family on more than one occasion, Sam had mowed Mrs. O’Malley’s lawn several times, and Dean had been roped into changing Stephanie’s brake pads one Saturday as she sat on the grass and pumped him for information about his relationship with Sam. The guys at the shop where Dean worked knew he lived with a guy, but never gave him any shit about it, at least not to his face. None of them treated him differently or made any gay jokes, which was a relief. 

So there they were, hosting a backyard barbecue and entertaining guests like they knew what the hell they were doing. It wasn’t that hard, though. During the summer, Sam had gone to see a family practice doctor and was prescribed a low-dose benzodiazepine to take as needed for anxiety. He’d needed them fairly often at first, but as he got more comfortable with his surroundings and secure in their new life, he found it was rarely necessary. 

Today, though, he’d taken one of the pills an hour before people were scheduled to start showing up at their house. As a result, he was just as at ease conversing casually with their neighbors as Dean was manning the grill. After a little while, he noticed Manuel had been fairly silent and keeping to himself, nursing a can of Coke on their back steps. 

“Hey”, Sam said, as he approached the boy. “Nervous about school starting?”

“Uh…yeah, I mean, I am, junior year and all, you know how important that is.” It was clear, though, that something else was bugging the kid.

“Come on, what is it really? Is there something going on?”

The boy looked down and mumbled, “Just some stuff the other kids are talking about, I - it’s all crazy, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you anyway.”

Sam knew that unless the ‘stuff the other kids are talking about’ turned out to be Bigfoot sightings, there was a whole lot he really would believe. Of course, Manuel had no way of knowing that. 

“Why don’t you try me? I’m an open-minded guy. Whatever it is, it’s upsetting you. I told you before, if you need something, ask me. I didn’t just mean school stuff.”

Taking a deep breath, Manuel looked up at him. “It’s just kind of freaking me out, the things people are saying. You know the school on the other side of the highway? Ashford?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it.” Sam had actually considered enrolling in an online class or two until he realized it was one of those for-profit places and didn’t have much in the way of accreditation. “You know some people who are going to college there?”

“No, it’s not that. One of the buildings on campus, it’s abandoned, guys go there to sneak beers, hook up with a girl, whatever. But now there are all these rumors going around. Creepy sounds, things being moved around. My friend Tony, he swears he got pushed down when there wasn’t anyone even close to him. Some of the other guys, they said he just doesn’t want to admit he had too much to drink and he fell, but Tony says he only had two beers and I believe him. He’s really freaked out. And now the guys are making fun of him, saying he’s telling ghost stories, he’s a big baby, stuff like that. School starts back Tuesday and he thinks everyone is going to, like, give him a hard time about it or whatever. I’ve never been out there – really, I haven’t!”

Sam laughed, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, teenagers sneaking out to an abandoned building to drink and make out is not exactly what I’d call a cardinal sin. Hell, I did it myself, a million years ago, so did Dean. Not that I’d encourage underage drinking, obviously, but hey, there are worse things. I’m sorry about your friend.”

“It’s all right, Sam, thanks. I appreciate that you offered to listen, anyway. I can’t tell my parents because then you know they’ll be all like _omigod beer and sex and ahhhhhhhh!_ and freaking out. Just forget it, I’m sure everything will blow over.”

Manuel got up to join the rest of the party then, and Sam did his own mingling, complimenting Dean on his flawless burgers and talking to some of the other neighbors. 

Sam couldn’t quite get the story the teen had told him out of his head, though. The next day, he was off and Dean was working, so he did some research on the history of the school. Turned out that it used to be a Catholic girls’ school and convent sponsored by the Sisters of St. Francis. The Franciscan Order was one dedicated to social justice, devoted to chastity and poverty, as well as missionary work, he discovered. Not a surprise. Over time, though, the school had merged with another Catholic high school, and eventually been purchased by the corporation that currently ran it as a for-profit university and the Franciscan Order was no longer affiliated with it at all. 

Only one sad story came from his online journey into the history of the place. One of the novices who’d been studying there had been found dead not far from the now-deserted building that Manuel had told him about. The article stated that it appeared the girl had jumped from the roof of the building, which sent up a red flag in Sam’s mind. It was a one-story structure, and unless the girl had landed at some kind of horrific angle or hit something on the way down, it was unlikely that her neck would have snapped from a drop that short. A few more clicks got him into the coroner’s database so he could look at the faded, scanned autopsy report. Maybe someone who wasn’t looking for it (or who didn’t want to see it) could ignore the injuries on this corpse, but to him, the report made it clear that this was no fall, or even a jump. 

With a little more digging, Sam found archived journals that alluded to rumors of some of the novices at the school being sexually abused, and the possibility that at least one of them was making a ruckus about it instead of keeping her mouth shut as expected. Was that what had happened? This girl was ready to tell the tale and someone decided to silence her permanently?

As the wheels in his mind kept turning in directions he couldn’t control, he didn’t hear Dean come in.

“What are you doing, Sam?” sounded from behind his left shoulder. Dean’s tone was definitely not a curious one, more accusatory and cold. 

“Oh. Ah…” Well, screw it, he wasn’t going to lie to Dean, that was ridiculous. “Okay. This weekend Manuel was telling me about some _strange_ things happening over in an abandoned building at the campus there at Ashford. Kids sneak off there to drink or get some action and lately they’ve been talking about things moving, hearing weird noises. One of the kids, a friend of Manuel’s, swears he got pushed down by something. The kid was scared, worried about his friend, I thought, you know, I could just take a look, see if anything popped out, suspicious, I guess, I don’t know…”

Dean cut off his rambling at that point. “We made an agreement, Sam”, his voice even but with a hint of anger. “We were done with this, done with all of it. Hunting’s not our life anymore. We made this new one. And I kind of thought we both liked it that way.”

“I do, Dean, come on, I do like this life! You have to know that! It’s just…habit? I don’t fucking know, it made me curious, I couldn’t help it. I’m not gonna do anything-”

With more heat behind his words this time, Dean replied, “Fuck that, you’re not gonna _do_ anything, you already have! And you know once you get started with this shit, you’re not just going to forget about it, go tell that kid he’s got nothing to worry about. You’ll be out there with a flashlight and an EMF meter in a hot minute and you fucking know it.”

Sam wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t really thought much about how Dean would react to his research but he certainly didn’t expect him to be quite this pissed off. 

“Dean, no, I’m not-”

“Sure, no, you’re not. Not **now**. You’ll wait til I’m not here. Like you waited til I wasn’t here to do your internet archeology. Jesus, Sam, I thought we’d gotten past hiding shit from each other.” There was no way for Dean to keep the pure hurt out of his voice. He was shocked, couldn’t believe this was happening.

“You think I’m gonna go sneaking around behind your back? Seriously?” Sam shouted back at his brother, his tone full of all the righteous indignation he felt at the moment. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” Aw, shit. Dean regretted the words the second they came out of his mouth, wished like hell he could take them back. 

For his part, Sam almost fell off his chair and just looked up at Dean with eyes that shone with unshed tears. 

Both of them felt their hearts shatter a little with that one simple question.

Seriously, Dean was going to pick _now_ to throw Ruby in his face? The most horrific decision he’d ever made, the actions that pushed him to throw himself voluntarily into that fucking hole in the ground at Stull, the things that led to what would probably be a lifetime of panic and occasionally sinking into insanity? All of the apologies he’d made…had Dean only pretended to accept them? Sam stood up and started moving closer to where Dean was standing.

“Wow. Man, if I thought you were still holding on to a grudge like that from years ago, I would have tried to get you to talk about it. Try to resolve it, maybe. But if you can still be angry with me for something I did way back then, even when you know, you fucking **know** I thought I was doing the right thing…I don’t even…” Sam got up then, and started walking toward the kitchen. “Fuck it. Here you are accusing me of keeping secrets and you never said you’re not over what happened with-”

At this point, Dean knew he’d fucked up, _bad_ , but he couldn’t back down. He really was mad at Sam for looking into this kind of shit. And yeah, he shouldn’t have made that crack about what had happened before. His instinctive _I’m pissed-off_ feeling seemed to be taking the lead, though. “Don’t you dare, Sam. Don’t you fucking **dare** say her name.”

Sam stared up at the ceiling for a minute, trying to figure out what to say or do that wouldn’t escalate the argument. His instinct was to clock his brother in the jaw hard enough to knock a couple of teeth loose, but he was stuck here in this crazy feeling, this guilty-mad-confused-defensive thing and he had no idea how to deal with any of it at that moment. He just kept walking, and ended up standing at the kitchen counter. 

“You’re being an asshole, Dean. I’m not cooking you dinner.” Ohhh, okay, so here comes pouty ten year old Sam. “I’m heating up some leftovers. You can do whatever you want.”

Not being a man with a handy set of reasonable coping mechanisms at the ready, Dean did the only thing he knew how to do. He grabbed his keys and headed back toward the front door. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you a detailed list of what I ate for dinner and what time I went to bed so you won’t think I’m _keeping secrets_ , asshole.”

The only reply he got was the slamming of the door.

All right. So, fighting was certainly going to happen. It certainly wasn’t the first time they’d argued since they’d settled down. But this one…this was bad. It was really bad, not anything like whose turn it was to haul the trash to the curb on Tuesday mornings or which movie they were going to watch on a Friday night. 

It took Sam hours to fall asleep, constantly listening for the front door to open, but eventually he drifted off restlessly. His dreams were of ghosts, murders, and being left alone. Waking with the sun, he realized he was still by himself in bed. Had Dean really stayed out all night? Sam knew he was mad, but Jesus. _That_ mad? _Stay out all night_ mad?

Regardless of the terrible dreams, Sam didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to find himself in an empty house. He didn’t want to face whatever was coming after the epic fight that had occurred the night before. But he was off work again that day, and Dean was off too. No matter what his dreams told him, Dean wasn’t going to just take off and never be seen again. So he forced himself out of bed and down the hallway.

That’s where he found his brother, sound asleep on the sofa. 

Okay, so he’d come home, but he was still angry enough that he hadn’t wanted to share their bed. 

Fuck. That was almost worse than if he hadn’t come home at all. 

As quietly as he could, Sam made his way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Not surprisingly, by the time it had finished brewing, Dean was stirring and getting up, walking toward the comforting aroma. Sam poured him a cup, then said, “Are you really that pissed? Enough that you wouldn’t come to bed? You don’t even want to be near me?”

Dean was silent.

Sam waited. He knew his brother.

After a few shots of caffeine, Dean responded. “No. More like embarrassed. I overreacted. Said some shitty things. I didn’t think you’d want me to come to bed with you.” He didn’t look at Sam at all, just sipped on his coffee.

“Yeah, that was shitty. You were being a total jerk. But I had time to think about it. I know you didn’t mean it, what you said about – well, you know. That stuff. From before. You were just mad. We both say stupid shit when we’re mad.”

“Sam, I swear to you, I am _not_ still angry about…that. I let it go a long time ago. I said it on purpose to hurt you, and that was a total dick move on my part. I’m sorry. Honestly, it was way out of line and I know that.”

“Yeah, Dean, it was. I was up half the night thinking you were harboring some resentment about that whole…thing. It’s not like I don’t feel bad enough about it already.” Years – fucking years had gone by and still neither of them were able to even say her name.

“I know, I know you do, which is why it was such a fucking stupid thing for me to say.” Dean moved in close then, rubbing Sam’s cheekbone with his fingers. “I didn’t mean it, please, you have to believe me. I will take full responsibility for dredging up something that was hurtful to you, and doing it deliberately because I wanted to make you feel bad. I was angry that you’d been researching the supernatural.” He took a deep breath then, still not entirely comfortable admitting his own insecurities. “We made this choice, you know, getting out of that life, and it made me feel like maybe you thought you made the wrong choice.” 

Sam reached out and pulled Dean into his arms, a tight embrace that he knew his brother wouldn’t be able to wiggle away from. To his surprise, Dean didn’t even try, just melted into Sam’s touch like it was gravity. For just a few moments, they held on like that. It couldn’t last forever, though. 

Dean pulled away and said, “If you think this is something worth looking at, we’ll check it out. Together. But I’m telling you, this is it. This is the very last thing. Next time you get wind of something supernatural, you ignore it or you pass it off to someone else.”

The relief Sam felt must have been palpable in the air around them. “Thanks, Dean. You know I’ve got a soft spot for Manuel, he was just so upset, I wanted to help. But you’re absolutely right. We made this decision together. Hunting is not what we do now. It’s not what we’re _going_ to do, ever again. Maybe we can go out there tonight, see if anything feels weird or sets off the EMF meter. But if it does, we’ll call Garth, and anything that needs to be taken care of, he can handle it.”

Chuckling softly, Dean replied, “Garth? Seriously?”

“Give the guy some credit, Dean. He can salt and burn just as well as we can. And he helped us out with that shojo, remember?”

Neither of them wanted to say that they didn’t really have anyone else to call. Every other hunter they’d ever known was dead, except for that one guy, Lee, who’d retired at their behest after the whole vetala incident. 

So they agreed, tonight they’d go see if there might be something genuinely supernatural happening in this abandoned building. If not, Sam could assure Manuel that everything was all right and he had nothing to worry about. If so, they’d call Garth, tell him what they knew, and leave the rest of it to him, washing their hands of the entire situation. 

In the meantime, they had a little bit of ‘making up’ to do. Since they both needed a shower, they decided to conserve water and get in together. Dean got onto his knees, sucked Sam off and swallowed every drop of his cum before pushing his brother against the cold, wet tile. Using conditioner as makeshift lube, he pushed his fingers into Sam’s ass with probably more force than he usually did. 

So maybe they were both still feeling a little of the anger from the previous night. That was okay.

As soon as he thought he’d done enough prep, Dean slicked up his cock (which was now going to smell like grapefruit, fucking whatever), lined it up at his brother’s hole, and fucked right in. 

Sam’s breath caught in his throat, just for a minute, before he was able to articulate his thoughts. Which, by the way, seemed to be something along the lines of _fuckfuckDeanloveyou hardermorepleasefuck sorrysosorry_. 

Dean was more than happy to comply with the demands that his brother was throwing at him even with his face pressed against the back of the shower tiles. He’d thought about taking it slow but the hot water wasn’t going to last forever and the atmosphere didn’t really call for sweet and romantic. Thrusting into Sam while holding him still with a hand on his shoulder, he let go and allowed his orgasm to overtake him, coming with a bitten-off shout that sounded more like a grunt than anything else. 

Once they were both dressed again, and had repeated their apologies, Dean figured they might as well go ahead and get down to the business at hand. “All right, tell me what you’ve got on this thing.”

Sam proceeded to fill Dean in on his research, the story of the girl who’d died next to that building and showed him the old coroner’s report and journals. He finished with recounting what Manuel had told him about his friend swearing that he’d been pushed to the ground. “What do you think? Could this be a legit haunting? A ghost, vengeful spirit, maybe?”

Dean had to be honest, Sam was right. It sounded like their kind of thing. Or, what used to be their kind of thing, anyway. And he’d agreed that they should check this out, for the sake of that nice kid up the street. “Yeah, I – yeah, it could be. More likely than not, actually. Why don’t we just go tonight? Then we’ll have our answers.”

Of course, it was obvious that what he really meant was “let’s just get this over with”. Sam wasn’t kidding himself, he knew that Dean wasn’t happy about this development, no matter what had been said between them. Still, the agreement had been made, and neither of them were going to break the promises that had been made that day. 

As night fell, the brothers found themselves in strangely familiar territory. There was no denying that what they were doing was something that still felt comfortable to both of them. The Impala rumbled up close to the building in question, and Dean hauled himself out of the passenger seat. Sam followed him to the trunk, where they retrieved their EMF meter, a couple of flashlights, and one shotgun filled with rock salt rounds, though they both hoped it wouldn’t have to be used. 

Walking into the structure, all the signs of a teenage sneak-away hangout were apparent. The floor was littered with empty beer cans, condom wrappers (hell, at least the kids were being safe, right?) and food containers. At first, it was just another dark, old abandoned building, like a thousand others they’d entered over the course of their lives. After a few minutes, though, Sam could feel it. Something cold, invisible, strong. Dean sensed it, too, and switched the EMF meter on. Less than twenty feet into the structure, the thing lit up, _really_ lit up. 

Before they knew it, Sam and Dean were standing back to back, an instinctive move, making sure all sides were covered. “You were right, Sam. There’s something here, for sure” Dean said, as he watched a pile of trash from the floor start to whirl around in the air. 

“Yeah” Sam responded, reaching behind him to grab Dean’s arm. Just the faintest outline had appeared, a woman…no, a girl, really. Young. Too young to die, and for once, neither of them felt the slightest interest in finding out what had happened to her. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

They barely made it. The door started to swing shut just as they approached it, and Dean wedged himself against it so he could get himself and his brother out of there and back to the car. 

Driving away, neither of them really knew what to say. 

Sam was the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry, Dean. I know you never wanted to see another ghost again, and neither did I. Honest.”

“What now?” Dean asked, without taking his eyes off the road.

“The fuck do you mean, _what now_?”

“Well, do you want to, I don’t know, find out where she’s buried? What happened to her?”

“Jesus, Dean, I thought this was settled! You having second thoughts?”

“Hell no I’m not having second thoughts. Just don’t want to stop you, you know, if you wanted to figure this thing out-”

“Pull over.”

Dean was a little surprised by the intensity of his brother’s words. “Why?”

“Because I said pull the fuck over, Dean.”

All right, then. 

Once the car was stopped on the side of the road, Sam unbuckled his seat belt and turned to his left, forcing Dean to look at him straight-on. “We agreed on this today, right? I wasn’t bullshitting you, Dean. Yeah, I wanted to see if there was really something out here, and you said we could, and if there was, we’d pass it off. Right?”

“Well, yeah, but if you-”

“No. No! Christ, Dean, are you _ever_ just going to take me at my word? Did I fucking ruin everything we’ve made because I looked into this? Tell me the truth.”

Taking a deep breath, Dean leaned his head back against the driver’s side window and composed himself. “The truth is, I’m a little off-balance. It scared me, you know? Not being in that building, not seeing something supernatural. It scared me when I found out you were still interested. It made me feel like no matter what we do, there’s always going to be something to pull us back to that. To this. And it…” Dean swallowed his pride and just let the words come out, “it made me feel like you made some big sacrifice, like you were just _settling_ for the life we have now, like it’s not really what you want.” He couldn’t help the tear that fell as he spoke.

Over in the passenger seat, Sam was reeling. He knew his brother had been hurt before, when all this first came up, but he thought he’d made himself pretty clear that this was a one-time thing, and that it was only because it involved someone they knew and cared about. Now he was seeing things much more clearly. In their life as hunters, there was always an excuse, always a reason, always some circumstance that put them in a situation that they hadn’t wanted to be in. It never ended.

Until they ended it.

And then Sam had gone and started it again. 

Christ, he was a dumbass. “Dean, please.” He wanted to reach out and touch him but was unsure whether or not it would be welcomed so he kept his hands in his lap. “I’m so fucking sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way, to give you the impression I wasn’t happy with what we have now. Sure, it was hard for me to ignore the suspicion that something strange was going on out here, but I could have, if I’d tried harder. I should have. If I had thought for just a second that it would hurt you so badly…shit, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to convince you that I’m sincere about this.”

“Promise me, Sammy. Look at me, right now, and make me this promise. I’ll make you the same one. Either of us gets wind of something that might be supernatural, one of us will tell the other and then make a phone call so somebody else can take care of it. You will _never_ do this again. **We** will never do this again. Promise me.”

Dean’s eyes were still glassy with tears that wouldn’t be shed, the look on his face more intense and serious than Sam had seen it in years, and Sam felt like a giant sack of shit. “I swear, Dean, never. Not ever again. It’s over, and I mean it. Please believe me.” And damn it, now he was trying to hold back tears too. 

“All right. Can we just go home now? You can call Garth and he’ll take care of it. Maybe we can meet him for some beers, even have him over for dinner or something.” And now Dean was just trying to make Sam feel less guilty, Sam knew it, but he didn’t care, because it was kind of working. 

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go home.” Then he gave in to his instinct and leaned in for a kiss, which was surprisingly returned before Dean pulled back onto the road.

Once they got home, as promised, Sam called Garth and told him what they’d found. 

Through the phone, Garth sounded just the same as he always had. “Sounds like a simple salt and burn to me, Sam. You sure you guys don’t want to-”

Emphatically, Sam replied “Yes, I’m sure, so is Dean. I told you, we’re out. We stumbled onto this, but it’s not our life anymore. Can you take care of it or not?”

“Don’t worry Sam, you know I’ll _Garth_ the chick. I’m not that far out anyway, and I can pick up my buddy Hank on the way. We’ll be out there tomorrow.”

“Thanks, I mean it. You want to, uh, you know, if you have time…you could come by our place, you and your friend. Have dinner, coupla beers, shoot the shit?”

“Hell yeah. You know I’d love to see you two jokers again. I’ll bring you a housewarming present, even. I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. So maybe Garth seemed a bit dense sometimes, but soft the tone of his voice relayed that he clearly knew more than he’d been told about his and Dean’s relationship. Not that he gave a crap about it, apparently. Which, yeah, it was still something that felt like a gift, someone they knew acknowledging what they had together and just accepting it, no judgment. 

Late the following afternoon, Sam had been standing on the front porch talking to Manuel, explaining that he had some friends who could take care of the problem out at the college building without going into any great detail, just saying there was actually something _wrong_ out there but it could be fixed. Which was fine, because the kid sure didn’t look like he wanted to know the specifics. Dean was just getting home after tightening a loose doorknob at Mrs. O’Malley’s place after work when that piece of garbage Ranchero pulled into their driveway blasting Madonna. 

Sam automatically felt shame at being able to identify ‘Don’t Tell Me’ in less than three notes. He swore on his grave that Dean would never find out this piece of information. It was all over the place in his first year at Stanford, so it stuck in his head. That was all. It’s not like he’d – ok, fine, maybe he liked it. Whatever.

Garth and his friend got out and Sam greeted them happily. Dean made his way onto the porch and Garth had pulled them both into one of those lame-ass one-armed man-hugs before introducing his friend.

Even Manuel eyed the skinny blond and his equally dorky looking friend with a bit of hesitation. He whispered to Sam, “These are the guys? The ones who are going to, uh, fix things out there?”

Smiling, Sam assured him that looks could be deceiving, and Manuel made his way home, not willing to incur the wrath of his mother if he showed up late for dinner. Rita seemed kind and mild-mannered, but she was certainly not the type of mother who stretched the rules. Dean and Sam both figured they’d probably not want to get on the wrong side of her. She reminded them both just a little of Missouri and Ellen in some ways.

Inviting their guests in, Dean got them all a beer as Sam explained what they’d seen the night before and handed over all the research he’d done. 

“Shit, guys, I almost forgot!” Garth darted out to his car and brought back a Wal-Mart bag. “Sorry I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

Dean reached in and pulled out a box covered with plastic. The entire fucking collection of the Die Hard movies on DVD. “Damn, man, you didn’t have to-”

“Ah, shut it, Dean” was Sam’s reply as his eyes lit up. “That was nice of you, dude. Thanks.”

“No problem. You two have taught me a lot, you know.” 

Sitting on the back patio, watching Dean grill steaks and potatoes wrapped in foil, Garth leaned closer to Sam, away from his friend and said, quietly, “It’s nice, it really is, Sam. What you have here. No denying the thrill of the hunt, but…the truth is I’d like to have something like this too one day. I mean, you know, not – not like – well, not with-”

Sam just laughed. “I get it, man. Hell, any of us who live past thirty deserve some kind of fucking prize, right?” The look he cast across the yard clearly broadcasted that he saw Dean and their life together as a prize. 

For a while, they sat and ate, swapping stories. Sam was thrilled to see that Dean wasn’t upset hearing about hunts other people had done. Yeah, there were still monsters out there, ghosts, other things that went bump in the night. It just wasn’t Dean’s problem anymore, nor was it Sam’s. Hell, Dean and Sam were just as enthusiastic talking about their normal jobs and the nice neighbors they’d met, mixing in things they liked about the town where they’d ended up. 

Once Garth and his friend left, Dean crept up behind Sam while he was washing and putting dishes away. Kissing the back of his neck, he said, “It was nice seeing Garth. I’m glad he agreed to take on the rest of this situation.”

Turning around, Sam embraced Dean, not caring that his hands were still wet and a little soapy. “Me too. I meant what I said, Dean. No more of this, I swear. Like you said, if anything is right in our face, we’ll get someone else to handle it.”

Dean nodded against Sam’s shoulder, but didn’t move away.

About 2am, the text alert sounded on Dean’s phone, shaking him from sleep instantly. 

**Call me**

Dialing the number, Dean said “Garth?”

“Yeah dude, it’s all wrapped up. You wanna hear the whole thing, or-”

Dean cut him off there. “I don’t want to hear any of it. Thanks for taking care of the problem, I honestly appreciate it, but-”, well, fuck it. “This whole incident has been kind of tough for Sam and me. I don’t wanna know any more.”

“Sure thing, man. You call me again if anything else comes up. I know I’m not half the hunter you and your brother are – were – but you got out. You have something good there. No point letting some piddly ghost screw it up. You two take care.”

“Yeah, Garth, thanks, you too.” were his last words as he hit the ‘end call’ symbol on the screen.

He could feel Sam stir next to him. “S’wrong?”

“Shhhh, go on back to sleep, Sammy. Everything’s fine.”

Epilogue

On Sam’s birthday, when they realized they’d been there a year, it was almost a shock. They’d been invited to Thanksgiving dinner with the Lopez family, and shared Christmas Eve with Stephanie, Mrs. O’Malley, and several other neighbors at a nice quiet gathering at their own house. Dean’s co-workers had organized a birthday celebration for him at a local bar on his fake birthday in March. 

Other than that one incident, nothing even remotely supernatural had popped up on either of their radars. And they both knew with absolute certainty that if anything ever did, they’d pick up a phone instead of a computer or a book on lore. 

Sam almost never needed any medication these days, and Dean had gotten used to waking up to his alarm clock five times a week. 

Manuel had aced his SATs, and Sam happily helped him fill out applications for colleges, financial aid and private scholarships. Mrs. O’Malley still brought them banana bread and pie once a week or so. 

One afternoon, after changing the oil in Stephanie’s car, she casually mentioned to Dean, “You two ever think about making it official?”

It took him a second before he got it, but he caught on pretty quickly. “Well, we haven’t really talked about it…”

“Look, I know I’m the neighborhood busybody, so ignore me if you want. I’m just saying, it’s obvious you and that gorgeous hunk of a man over there have been together a long time, and this is one of the few places where you can get a marriage license. Not some civil union or domestic partnership bullshit, but a real live marriage license. Not many other places can say that. So, you know, if you ever felt like that was what you wanted, you could have it.”

And yeah, Dean had been telling the truth, they hadn’t really discussed it. But maybe now it was time for that conversation to happen. He’d be happy just staying as they were, but he had to admit there was a definite feeling inside him that wouldn’t mind having rings and official paperwork. Not to mention the chance to share the same last name, for him to be Dean Winchester again.

Stephanie thanked him for his help, and Dean thanked her for the advice.

He headed back down the sidewalk. Toward _home_. He had just thought of a question he really wanted to ask Sam.


End file.
